


In Between

by Khintress



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-12-22 20:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11974353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khintress/pseuds/Khintress
Summary: She's a masterpiece of miracles. She's lived and died and lived again. She's waged wars and won peace.But she's still human, and she doesn't always feel miraculous.





	1. like a bone

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a collection of miscellaneous works I've done focusing on the "in between's" in Shepard's life. Because I've never loved a character quite like I love the Commander. Title comes from OneRepublic's Prodigal.

 

_i. not far from here, you see me crack - **li**_ ** _ke a bone_ ** _, like a bone - I'm so breakable_

 

She doesn’t sleep in her cabin. When it’s time to seek out a moment’s rest, she goes to the bridge. She curls up in the co-pilot’s seat, watching the lights dance across the HUD as Joker helms the ship. He doesn’t ask why she’s there; he knows. Or he thinks he does. This isn’t her ship, her crew, her home. She’s woken up to find everything she knows has changed. She’s looking for comfort, for familiarity, for someplace safe. So EDI locks the door to the bridge, and Joker chatters aimlessly until she drifts off, exhausted by the enormous weight that seems to rest eternally on her shoulders.

He thinks he knows. They all think they know. And they’re all partially right.

She claims the passing stars give off too much light, and thanks Joker when he closes the shutters and dims his console. He knows the routine, and she’s grateful for it – grateful that she doesn’t have to ask. But the light doesn’t bother her; the way she lives – lived – meant she had to be able to sleep anywhere, anytime, to ward off fatigue. Now? Now she feels helpless, weak, victimized by the nightmares that plague her, and she hasn’t truly slept since waking up in a Cerberus lab.

She wonders if they know how she died. They must not, she thinks – surely even Cerberus isn’t so cruel. They must think she died in the explosion, in the blast or from debris. They must think she died instantly.

They must not know about the suit rupture. About the ripping pain as the air was pulled from her lungs. About the sharp, tearing sting as she froze in the armour meant to keep her safe. They must not know that she suffocated among the stars, watching the corpse of her home – broken, like herself, into so many pieces – drift off in silence to settle in the nothingness. They must not know that she died slowly, achingly, torturously in the stillness of space.

If they had, they would never have built a massive fucking window above her bed. Would they?

 


	2. sharp and steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that hearing about Shepard and seeing Shepard are two very different things.

 

_ii. her eyes look **sharp and steady** , into the empty parts of me_

 

They don’t know what to make of her. They can sense she doesn’t trust them, but she’s been nothing if not professional since boarding the SR-2. No open hostility towards the crew, not even the AI, but she’s been so separated from them, it sometimes feels like she isn’t even there. Every look is appraising, sceptical, like she’s sizing them up, analyzing them. Joker imagines she probably knows all of them, down to every detail in their records, and hasn’t spoken to a single one of them. She doesn’t trust Cerberus, he knows, but these people trust _her_ explicitly – and why wouldn’t they? He remembers her talking and laughing with everyone on the old Normandy, and wonders if it’s the uniform that’s changed, or her.

But despite the barricade between her and the crew, it’s not uncommon for a few of them to gather on the bridge in their off hours. Joker likes to keep live feeds of helmet cam footage on when the team is groundside, and on non-critical missions, sometimes the crew likes to watch. He understands their fascination – who wouldn’t want to see the fabled Commander Shepard at work? But the gasps and exclamations get distracting after a while, and he’s considering how he can make them leave when Shepard’s voice comes through his channel.

“If we’re gonna leave communications open, the peanut gallery is gonna have to keep their mouths shut.”

That effectively summons silence. It occurs to him, however, that he _knows_ how Shepard fights. He’s seen the calculated chaos and ruthless strategy. He knows the stories and he knows Shepard. But them? They _only_ know the stories, and now they’re getting to _witness_ it. He’d forgotten what that feels like; the awe, the intensity, the sheer force that is Shepard. He doesn’t know if it’ll help to humanize her, or the exact opposite, but hopefully it’ll give these people an idea of just who this woman is.

“You know,” He says, mischief in his eyes. “She does this thing, it’s not even fair. The other guys don’t stand a chance. She hits a group of them with a biotic shockwave, sends them flying, then she and Garrus pick ‘em off one by one with their rifles. Like target practice. If you’re lucky, these mercenaries might just be dumb enough to cluster up and make themselves a target.”

He knows she’s listening, and sure enough, the next time the front door opens, six or seven Blue Suns find themselves suspended in a biotic lift with a single bullet lodged in each of their skulls. The crew are going wild in their excitement, and Joker thinks Shepard may just kill him when she gets back.

But then her voice filters through the speakers again, and he knows she’s got this entire ship in her pocket.

“We’re about to blow these fuckers off the face of this planet, so if there are any other requests, make ‘em now.”

And when Shepard starts making a point of talking to them, bringing groceries from the Citadel and hunting down old ship parts, Joker almost feels obligated to warn the Illusive Man of his inevitable loss. Because Shepard isn’t Cerberus; once the Collectors are dealt with, she’s severing any connection she has with him. She’ll undoubtedly be taking the Normandy with her, and the crew? Well shit, they’re not Cerberus anymore either, not really. They’re Shepard’s crew now, and they’ll follow her anywhere.

Because Shepard hasn’t changed, and no matter what uniform she’s wearing, the people know who to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Foreigner's God by Hozier.


	3. what's left of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not her body. Not really. Not anymore.

 

_iii. I try not to lose_ **_what's left of me_ ** _, but it's gone_

 

She’s glowing. She’s standing in her bathroom, stripped bare, lights off, watching the cybernetics pulse beneath her skin. And she’s glowing. These aren’t her scars; there are no stories here, no close calls or near misses. There’s just death, and the ungodly mutilation of undoing it. She barely recognizes her own skin. She wonders how much of her is still organic, still _her_ , and how much is machine.

She doesn’t even feel like herself. Like her balance has shifted. She’s running too fast, hitting too hard. She’s too sharp, like a recently upgraded weapon that she hasn’t adjusted to firing yet. But if she isn’t herself, how would she know the difference?

Then she watches the faint red hue pierce through her pupils, and she nearly puts her fist through the mirror. Miranda claims she’s human, that she’s still Commander Shepard, down to every last moral. But she doesn’t feel human, and she certainly doesn’t look it. Who the hell were they to play God? To take her broken pieces and try to fit her back together like children with some sick, twisted puzzle? She hadn’t been chipped, or cracked, she’d been _shattered_. Unrecognizable for what she had once been, damaged beyond hope of repair.

She was dead, and now she’s not.

What the fuck is she supposed to do with that? How does she explain this to the Alliance? To her friends? To her _mother_? How does she prove to the galaxy that she is Commander Shepard when she doesn’t believe it, herself?

Ashley used to say you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their eyes, and Shepard’s are glowing bright red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TItle taken from Switchfoot's When We Come Alive.


	4. you always had my back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still upset about Horizon.

 

_iv. and you said **you always had my back** , oh but how were we to know_

 

She hasn’t cried.

Everything she’s gone through, everything she’s endured, everything she’s been forced to shoulder, and she hasn’t cried. But here she is, standing in front of this fucking frame, watching his picture flicker in and out like a dying flame, and damn her if she isn’t fighting tears. _Over a boy_.

Not, not a boy. Her best friend, the person who knows her better than anyone, better than herself – the person who loves her. Who loved her. Who left her. Who thinks she’s been lying to him, instead of fighting death. The only person she trusted to know if she was different, off, _wrong_.

She’s never felt abandoned before now, not by the Alliance, not even by the Council. She’s been burned, scarred, shot – _fuck,_ she’s been _dead_ – but she’s never hurt like this. A sharp, piercing stab and a deep, dull ache all at once. She lets it seep into her bones, lets it flood her veins and overtake her until she can no longer stand to look at the picture, and instead finds herself looking at someone she doesn’t recognize.

This time, she does put her fist through the mirror. And she doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left to stare back at her. Nothing left to remind her of what she used to be, who she used to be. Nothing left to mock her with the life she lost. She sits in the shower, letting the water pour over her as she pulls glass from her knuckles, and she cries.

The glass is deep; it will leave scars, rough and ugly, but they’ll be hers. She will look at her hands and see something she had done, not something done to her. She will remember marring herself in fear, in desperation, in anguish, over a man. The man she loves, and the man she lost, and she thinks she could thank Kaidan for that. Because she hasn’t cried until now. Because she didn’t think she could. _Machines_ don’t cry.

And she is no machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Bastille's Bad Blood.


	5. but the sun comes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I was Shepard the galaxy would have burned because I AM A SALTY BITCH.

 

_v. there is no more status quo, **but the sun comes up** and the world still spins_

 

She considers what they’ll do when the Reapers come. A strange thought, looking out at Vancouver from her lavish prison. The city is so peaceful, so serene – it’s hard to imagine the inevitable war that will overtake this place, but that doesn’t make the threat any less real.

So she waits. She reads what limited material they’ll allow her, blasts her music loud enough to annoy anyone walking by her door, and does what exercise she can to work herself to the point of exhaustion. She doesn’t mind the hot showers; and hot meals aren’t too bad either. She’d forgotten what an actual sunset looked like, not that she’d seen many to begin with, growing up in space.

But this is Alliance Command, not a starship. It’s the same sun, up and down, every day. The same room, same window, same everything. She’s seen Kaidan a few times, walking outside with Anderson. Neither of them have visited in her time here. She stopped watching for them a long time ago.

James is good company, though. He spends most of his time with her, having been assigned as her bodyguard of sorts. He doesn’t seem to mind – not anymore, at least. It’s been three months, they’ve had a long time to get used to each other. She’s grateful for him; she can’t imagine being alone for so long. On a ship, she was never alone, not really. She spent longer than she cares to admit lying in bed, staring at the closed shutters above her, talking to EDI about nothing and everything.

She misses her crew. She hopes they’re safe.

She knows they aren’t.

But she can’t do anything about it. Not a damn fucking thing, so she waits. She watches the sunrise, fills her waking hours with distractions, watches the sunset, and starts everything over again. She tries to limit her sleep, but she knows James hears her screaming. He doesn’t ask; she’s grateful for that too.

She knows it’s only a matter of time before they release her. Before the Reapers invade and they come to her in their fear and desperation. She wonders what she’ll do when it happens. She used to know – now she’s not so sure. She considers what they’d do if she just said no, she’s done enough, she’s hurt enough, she’s had enough. She’s watching the sun go down, the light disappearing over the city, when she realizes she _wants_ to say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from What'd I Miss from Hamilton! Because Mass4Ham fucked me up.


	6. stolen parts, secondhand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this obsession with the idea that Shepard would hate the windows on the SR-2. How do you die in space and then not be at least a little bit afraid of it?

 

_vi. young hearts broken in **stolen parts, secondhand** \- you came, you came around_

 

He doesn’t know how to feel, coming aboard the Normandy again. He hadn’t had a chance to look around before arriving on Mars; everything is familiar, but so, so different. The observation decks are a nice addition – quiet, calming – a good place to go when his implant acts up. But he can only stare at the stars for so long, delaying the inevitable; sooner or later, he has to talk to Shepard. He wonders who’ll break first, so to speak, and seek the other out. He’s always known Shepard to be impatient, he’s sure she’ll find him here before long.

But she doesn’t.

He gives it a couple of hours, reads through some reports on Earth, before the door finally opens. It’s not Shepard, however, but Vega.

“Hey Kaidan, how’s it going?” He asks casually, dropping himself on one of the sofas and kicking his feet up with a pleased grin.

“Just settling in,” Kaidan offers a smile in return. “You?”

“Ah, I come up here sometimes to grab a quick nap. People don’t usually come in here.”

“Why not?” He asks. It seems like the perfect spot for some downtime, James is proof of that.

“The only people wandering around the ship are usually looking for Shepard; she never comes this way.”

“Huh,” Kaidan muses, turning back to the window as James settles his arms behind his head and makes himself comfortable.

“Huh?” The marine echoes, waiting for further explanation.

“It’s just, on the original Normandy, Shepard spent most of her time on the bridge, watching the stars float by.” Kaidan provides. “It’s weird to think she wouldn’t spend any time in here.” He turns to see James cock an eyebrow, a look of disbelief working its way onto his face. “What?”

“Hey man, it’s – uh, it’s not really my place. I just came up here for a nap.”

“James,” Kaidan urges, feeling his heart clench. He’s always known Shepard best, known her quirks and behaviours. It’s unsettling that, after everything, he’s not sure he knows anything about her at all. It’s not fair to her, he knows – he’s the one who left, who didn’t stay, it’s his fault he doesn’t know – but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“It’s just…that’s a big window, you know? With a _lot_ of empty space on the other side. That’s all I’m saying.”

Then it hits him, like a biotic punch to the gut, and he swears that in that moment, he hates himself. He leaves the observation deck without another word, and James doesn’t stop him. He feels like an idiot, of course he would pick the one room – he can’t wait for her to find him. Not this time.

Because she’s not the same, how could she be? And she shouldn’t be the one always taking the first step, not after everything he’s done to push her away. She’s changed, yes, but so has he. That doesn’t mean they don’t fit together anymore. It just means they have to readjust the pieces. He wants them to fit, to try, to give it a chance. He loves her, he never stopped loving her, he needs her to know that. To know that he was scared, and grieving, and unsure of everything before now, but _god does he love her._ He wants, more than anything, prove that to her.

He wants to _know her_ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Loveless by X Ambassadors


	7. war wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, Alchera really fucked me up?

 

_vii. too many **war wounds** and not enough wars_

 

“Where did this come from?”

She turns from her work and cocks an eyebrow at him. They’re still on rocky terms; the incident with Udina is fresh and clear, and she isn’t sure how comfortable she is with him in her cabin so soon. He’s touching everything, asking questions that she’s sure he won’t like the answers to. He’s trying to get them back to where they were, he’s trying to get them both comfortable _talking,_ but it was only a matter of time before he opened a box they couldn’t close. And she won’t push him away – she can’t, not – not like he did her after Cerberus. She won’t. She wants to make it work, to make them work, to put in the effort and have something _good_ come out of this goddamn war. 

But there he is, holding her N7 helmet like it’s a novelty – like it’s a collectable – and she knows it’s too soon for this.

“Alchera.” She answers briskly, and he nearly chokes on his breath.

“How - ?” He gets the word out, but little else. She watches him set the helmet down gently, like it’s porcelain now, instead of cheap knock-off plastic.

“How do you think?” She inquires, perhaps too harshly, in retrospect. But she doesn’t want to have this conversation, not now, maybe not ever. Whenever their time apart comes up, he reacts one of two ways – with guilt, or with anger. ‘I should have joined you’, or silence. She has a feeling it will be guilt today, but she doesn’t want his guilt. She doesn’t want his sad words or his shameful looks. She wants to not have been _dead_ for two years. She wants to know which parts of her are real and which parts are synthetic. She wants to know if she’s a construct of some egomaniacal agenda, or a fucking person. _That’s what she wants_. Not this. Today is not the day for this.

“You went down there?”

“Kaidan – ”

“They _sent you_ down there?” That isn’t what she expected. His eyebrows knot together and his lip quirks up – and not in the way she _likes_ – and she’s at a loss. This isn’t guilt, it’s anger, and it leaves her at a bit of a loss.

“They wanted me to recover their tags, as…closure, or something. I put up a memorial.”

“A – ” He scoffs, throwing his hands behind his head and locking his fingers together to keep from hitting something. “A memorial? Anyone could have put up a memorial.”

“They were _our_ friends, _our_ crew.” She tries, earning a shake of his head and a lap around the bed. He’s worked up, but she doesn’t know how to bring him down. They’re on a tightrope, waiting to fall.

“Was it Hackett?” He nearly snaps, “Does he know how much he asks of people? Of you?”

“He was doing his job.”

“He sent you, knowingly, to your own grave, Shepard.”

“He thought I’d want to know.” About her ship, her crew, her friends.

“Did you?” He turns on her, his gaze unwavering in his vibrant defense of her. A part of her is glad for it; it wasn’t long ago that he was defending _against_ her. But a part of her is scared. Scared that this newly opened box is one that’ll suck them both in and never let them out.

“I…no. No, I don’t think I did.” She says gently.

“But you went anyway.” 

“They _died_ down there, Kaidan.”

“ _You_ died down there!” He shouts suddenly, and she wonders if he ever expected his curiosity to lead him to such outrage. If he thought his idle questions would lead to pleasant answers instead of a blood-soaked history of her remarkably unsettling life. Her death is the cornerstone of their relationship now. Every argument leads back her hurdling towards a frozen planet, and the broken skeleton of their lives, floating just out of reach. He should know better than to ask questions by now, but here they are.

Maybe one day they’ll have a conversation that doesn’t end in this bitter silence; this blank space where they dwell on the injustices they’ve experienced – the injustices they’ve committed. Maybe one day they’ll open a box that doesn’t contain a raging inferno, ready to sear the flesh from their bones as surely as the sun. Maybe, one day, they’ll learn to keep the box closed.

Until then, they’ll have the guilt, and the anger, and the empty space where their home used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Fall Out Boy's Irresistible


	8. broken about this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These aren't in chronological order, and I felt some optimism was needed - so here are my dumb children trying to fix what they broke.  
> On a side note: I have never in my life been so worked up about artificial intelligence.

 

_viii. babe, there's something **broken about this,** but i might be hoping about this_

 

She’s sitting at her desk, rereading the same sentence for the fourth time when her com pings. She reaches for the terminal absently, scrubbing her other hand over her face as the exhaustion works its way through her bones.

“Shepard,” She answers, blinking at the datapad as the words blur together.

“It’s me,” Kaidan’s voice filters through, and she pushes the offending report away to sit back in her chair, thoroughly defeated. “Can I come up?”

She considers declining, however briefly. Things have been unsurprisingly tense since the Citadel, and she’s too tired to be walking on eggshells in her own quarters. But she misses him. She’s beaten and bruised and fighting a war she can’t possibly win – and she misses him. She can rectify one of those things.

“Door’s open.”

The connection ends and she prepares herself for whatever awkward conversation they’re about to have. She wants to work past this, _fix_ this, but between the Reapers and Cerberus, well – she’s stretched thin. The door slides open behind her and she takes a deep breath before turning to greet him.

“Hey,” She smiles tiredly, getting up from the desk.

“Hey,” He smiles in return, shuffling (awkwardly, as expected) and holding out a bottle of whiskey as an offering. “Hell of a day, huh?”

“One for the history books.” She agrees, gesturing for him to follow as she retrieves a pair of glasses and sits on the couch. “I’m…still not sure it actually happened.”

“What?” He chuckles, pouring a drink for them both. “Achieving peace between the quarians and the geth, settling Rannoch, and killing a Reaper _on foot_ is too much to believe?”

“Well when you say it like that.” She huffs, downing her drink in one go. It’s a tingle in the back of her throat, and she wonders exasperatedly if she’s just _that_ tired or if the implants have ruined the sweet burn of whiskey too. They’re quiet for a moment as he pours another, but she finds herself comforted by the silence, instead of suffocated by it. Or maybe it’s him. She really doesn’t know anymore.

He settles into the couch, and the words escape before she has a chance to catch them.

“I can’t stop thinking about Legion.”

She’s expecting surprise, disbelief, uncertainty about her affections for ‘a machine’. Instead he nods, empathetic or sympathetic or…something. Sad, maybe.

“Tali talked about it. Him? Them? I…I don’t claim to understand everything that happened there, but I saw it work and I heard it speak and…that was no geth we ever fought.”

“He was a friend.” She confirms. “He was…” She feels the burn behind her eyes and struggles to voice how the geth’s passing has marred her. “He was a _good friend_.”

Kaidan raises his glass silently, and Shepard nods as she mirrors the action. They both finish their drinks this time, and she dwells on them. Legion, Thane, Mordin, Ashley. _Ashley_. She’s lost too many friends to this fucking war.

She nearly startles when his hand settles on her knee. It’s possibly the most intimate touch they’ve shared since his return to the Normandy, and his eyes suggest he knows as much. She takes a shuddering breath and reaches almost desperately for his hand, squeezing it in her own until he entwines their fingers.

“Rannoch…” He starts, mulling over the words. “…got me thinking. The quarians have a planet to go back to, a home after the war, and I…” He gives her hand another squeeze. “I want that. Something to look forward to, after all of this.”

“A home.”

“A home.” He nods, and his eyes burn like the whiskey _should_. “I’m not asking for anything, especially after today, I just…I just wanted you to know that you’re it for me, Shepard. You’re everything.”

Her tongue sits heavy in her mouth, words caking in her throat as she chokes on them. It doesn’t take her long to abandon them, instead placing her empty glass back on the table and getting up from the couch. She watches the understanding cross his face as he readies himself to go, but she holds tight to his hand and gives it a gentle tug. The understanding quickly morphs into confusion, his eyes drifting from their joined hands to her face as a word finally dislodges itself.

“Stay.”

“Shepard,”

“I haven’t slept in three years.” She quiets him, and he knows. Not since the SR-1. Not since him. “I’m tired, Kaidan. Stay.”

So he does. He stays, and neither of them dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title courtesy of From Eden by Hozier


	9. loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Joker, Garrus, Tali and Dr. Karin Chakwas. Because y'all didn't accuse me of terrorism and abandon me on a hostile planet.

 

 _ix. they're sharing a drink they call_   ** _loneliness_** _,_   _but it's better than drinking alone_

 

He’s sitting in the mess when she starts her rounds. Three years later, at least that hasn’t changed. She always has to know how everyone is doing, routinely doing laps of the ship to check in on everyone. He watches her leave the main battery and head for Liara’s room, his dinner sitting untouched in front of him. He’s still lost in thought when she settles herself opposite him, startling him from his musings.

“How are you settling in?” She asks, offering a small smile.

“Everything is different.” He confesses, poking at his dinner with his fork. “But it still _feels_ like the Normandy, you know? Stuff’s just been…I don’t know, moved around?”

“It takes some getting used to, but the bones are still there.” She agrees, glancing around the mess hall. “It’s weird to have an Alliance crew on board again.”

“Really?” That surprises him. If anything, he’d think it’d be a comfort.

“The Cerberus crew,” She purses her lips, wondering how to explain. “By the end, they weren’t Cerberus. They were mine. They belonged to the Normandy, not the Illusive Man. When I left, they came with me. I couldn’t say the same of this crew.”

“You doubt their loyalty?” He asks.

“No, no. I know they’re loyal. To the Alliance. To the fight. None of them really _know_ me, that’s all I meant. I’m a figurehead, a…a symbol, more than anything. That’s what they need me to be. With the Cerberus crew it was more…personal? Casual. Less ceremony. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say.” She lets out a huff of a laugh, but he thinks he understands her meaning. She was less Commander, more Shepard. Now she couldn’t afford that kind of familiarity.

“It’s lonely at the top.” He says quietly, catching the relief in her eyes.

“Yes,” She confirms. “It is.”

“There are familiar faces, though. Liara, Joker, Garrus.”

“And you.”

He can’t help the sad smile that matches her own. He wonders if either of them will ever forgive him for Horizon.

“And me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Billy Joel's Piano Man


	10. heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start with a huge thank to everyone who has left kudos, and an absolutely ENORMOUS thank you to those who've left comments! Here's an extra chapter, for being positively awesome! 
> 
> This one has a bit of a different tone from the previous one. Remember that optimism I mentioned? Sorry in advance.

 

_x. my heart is **heavy** , does it show?_

 

She’s exhausted. She wants nothing more than to settle in next to the toilet and vomit out every last thing in her body until there’s nothing left to keep her from sleep. She wants to expel every thought, every memory of Thessia until time itself turns backwards. She wants to rewind history until Liara can smile and none of them know the sight of an entire world burning.

She wants to forget. She’s sick to her stomach with the desperation of it.

But she doesn’t have the energy to turn over, let alone get up. Even the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes feels like too much effort. She tries not to wake Kaidan – back to his chest and legs tangled with his – with her pervasive thoughts. She’s been staring at the closed shutters for three hours, contemplating the expanse on the other side. It’s quiet in her cabin, save for the usual hum of the ship – but her mind is a cacophony of noise. Every shout of terror, every cry for help is burned into her brain like a brand she’ll never be able to cut out.

It’s their screaming, she thinks, that keeps her awake.

Her thoughts drift to the memorial wall, to the names that haunt the halls of the Normandy. Every letter is added weight, every plaque an anchor. She’s still waiting to sink. She wants to bend and break until she’s free. Free to grieve and mourn and _process_ the deaths she’s played too large a hand in. She wants to take a moment and miss her friends. She wants to be a person, just for a moment.

She thinks of opening the shutters. Of letting the light in and staring up as the stars pass over her. She thinks of drifting off among them; of getting lost in the dust and debris. She sees stars and nebulas, asteroids and supernovas and everything that used to _amaze_ people before they could live among them. She imagines it, vast and empty and _beautiful._ It’s peaceful.

Then she sees Thessia. She sees Earth and Tuchanka and Palaven, and it’s _war_. It’s death and destruction and chaos. The stars aren’t beautiful anymore; they’re harsh and hot – weapons too enormous and terrible to defend against. It’s what she deserves, she thinks, to be cast adrift in the galaxy she cannot save. To let it consume her, as she’s letting it be consumed. She remembers the shouts and cries, and her traitorous heart is grateful that some of them died quickly, at least.

She didn’t.

So she doesn’t open the shutters. She doesn’t have the courage to. _She can’t_. On the good days, she sees Alchera.

On the bad days, she yearns for it.

It’s their screams, she thinks, that keep her awake. Space, she knows, is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Same Mistake by James Blunt


	11. change you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost my shit when I found the SR-2 in Andromeda. Literal tears over a model ship.

 

_xi. do their best to **change you** , they still can't erase you_

 

She’s different. They both are, he knows, but he’s trying to focus less on the past. He’s trying to relearn her, cataloguing the things that stand out without rationalizing them. She doesn’t need a reason, an excuse, for every behaviour that doesn’t fit his memory of her. It’s a slow process, but he’s learning.

The oddest thing he’s noticed is her affinity for collections. Perhaps it’s not a change in her, he thinks, but a change in circumstance. Her cabin on the SR-1 had the bare necessities, not like the luxury floor she has to herself here. She wouldn’t have had space for an armory or display cases or a fish tank. But here he is, blue lights dancing on his skin, watching the fish swim like they’re the strangest things he’s ever seen.

“Automatic food dispenser.” She mentions idly from her desk, datapad in her hand. “EDI keeps them fed. I can’t be trusted with their tiny, nutrient-dependent lives.”

He chuckles, but the idea of her needing an AI to feed her fish is fairly in character. The fish aren’t her only pets though – oh no. The hamster is something of a touchy subject. Something about reckless workers during the retrofits and three solid hours in Engineering trying to catch the little thing. She calls it Space Ham, but he’s not sure if that’s its _name_ or –

And then there’s the models. Miniature replicas of frigates and cruisers; even Sovereign has a place among her collection of tiny ships. Something stutters in his heart every time he sees the SR1, sitting front and center.

“I got most of them on Illium.” She says, shaking him from his thoughts. He realizes with some embarrassment that she’s been watching him as he stares off into space. “Some on the Citadel. Even Omega.”

“They sell model ships on Omega?”

“Well, they sell a model _of_ Omega.”

They’re quiet for a moment as she sets the datapad down, shuffling some things around her desk before rising to stand next to him.                

“They’re reminders.” She explains, and it’s a testament to how – at her core – she’s still the same Shepard he lost. He doesn’t have to ask, she just knows. It’s a relief he didn’t know he needed until now. “Silly trinkets, I know. But I can’t seem to let them go.”

“They let them be during the retrofits?”

“No,” She chuckles, shaking her head at a memory he doesn’t share. “They were scattered. I had to hunt them down.” She looks at him again, and there’s more in her voice than model ships. More than fish or hamsters.

“You’re persistent.” He notes.

“Stubborn.” She corrects with a smile, and he _knows_ they’re not talking about trinkets. “They’re mine. They belong with me.”

Maybe she’s not as different as he thought.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Hand Me Down by Matchbox Twenty


	12. your voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want everyone to immediately listen to End of My Journey (Mordin's Song) by John Dreamer because I've been listening to this song for five years and it still makes me cry. It's just breathtaking, honestly.

 

_xii. i miss the sound of **your voice** , the loudest thing in my head_

 

She’s habitual. Always has been. Her routine is consistent – reliable. It’s the largest indication that her priorities haven’t changed. Not that he needs convincing, not anymore. She’s Shepard, _his Shepard_ , and now that he’s effectively extracted his head from his ass, he can simply enjoy the time he has with her.

Her rounds come first, whether it’s post-mission or a regular day. She checks on the crew, working her way through each floor – top to bottom – until she’s content that everyone has what they need. Then, after she’s inevitably ended her rounds in the shuttle bay, she gets to work on her equipment. Armor first, then guns. She’ll do any tune-ups or upgrades she sees fit, humming to herself or chatting with Cortez until everything’s back up to her standards.

Then it’s time for her work out. She and James will hit each other until they can’t breathe and one of them folds. Vega will get a good shot in every now and then, but seven times out of ten, Shepard walks away with the privilege of claiming victory. If he’s lucky, Kaidan sometimes makes it down to the shuttle bay in time to get a few rounds in with her. It’s a good opportunity to work on his biotics, even if James claims the ‘blue bullshit’ is nothing compared to peak physical excellence.

Once the training is out of the way, it’s time for desk work – meetings, reports, research. Most days, this is where her routine ends. She’ll mull over datapads until she can barely keep her eyes open, and then get a few hours of rest before starting everything over again. He’ll spend some time with her in her cabin; they’ll share a drink and talk strategy. He usually has to convince her to try to sleep – he’s not always successful.

But sometimes, on the rare day, she’ll take some time just for herself. She likes to cook; she’s (unsurprisingly) good at it. She’ll come down to the kitchen – usually late, so the mess hall is empty – and hum while she tosses something together. It doesn’t happen often, but Kaidan tries to be there when it does. He so rarely gets to see her at ease, he has to take every chance. He wants nothing more than for her to be free to spend her time doing what she enjoys.

He tries not to picture her in a kitchen on the Pacific coast, but the image is pervasive.

“What’s she cookin’ now?” James’ voice pulls him from his thoughts, and Kaidan shifts as the man sits next to him.

“No idea.” He says. “She won’t tell me.”

“Well I hope she’s making enough for three!” James calls, loud enough for the Commander to hear, and Shepard turns to cock an eyebrow at him with a smile. She doesn’t say a word as she resumes her work, still humming softly to herself as she turns back to the counter. It occurs to Kaidan that it’s always the same tune, but he doesn’t recognize it beyond her quiet tones.

“Do you know that song?” He asks James, but the soldier just huffs and shrugs.

“Beats me, man. She does it downstairs too.” He kicks his feet up on the chair across from him, settling in with a roll of his shoulders. “Funny thing to be doing while you’re working on an M-920 Cain, that’s all I’m saying.”

“What’s a funny thing?” Liara joins them, and the two men nod to Shepard. “The cooking or the humming?”

“Humming,” Kaidan answers as the asari sits in the chair across from them, eyeing Vega's feet beside her. “Do you recognize it?” Liara stills, listening for a moment before chuckling.

“Sounds like Gilbert and Sullivan.” She smiles, not quite believing her own conclusion, and James laughs. Leave it to Shepard to hum show tunes in her off-time. She’s got an odd taste in music, he’ll admit, but the smell wafting over from the kitchen is worth it. And if he imagines her humming patter songs in their kitchen by the sea, well – she’s always been habitual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Come On Get Higher by Matt Nathanson


	13. end up dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Sorry guys.

 

_xiii. i'm old enough to know i'll **end up dying** , and not young enough to forget again_

 

She’s only been to Earth a few times. The longest she’d ever spent on humanity’s home world was her confinement. She had a nice view, certainly, but she regrets not seeing more – she knows Earth is beautiful.

Was beautiful.

She thinks of all of the culture here; the art and history and the miracle that was the evolution of their species. She thinks of how important this little rock is, and of everything she’s done to save it. She hopes it’s enough. It has to be enough. She can’t let their home die.

Space is beautiful, by all accounts – but growing up among the stars dulls their brilliance. She was born in space, she lived and fought and died in space. It will go on without her. The great void, vast and endless, doesn’t need her. Earth, in comparison, lies in ruin. Her home world, once beautiful and bountiful, now looks just like her. It’s beaten and broken, bruised and scarred, bent and bloody. It was dying, but it will heal. If they’ve done enough, if _she’s done enough_ , it will heal.

She won’t.

She can breathe this time, but the air is like fire in her lungs. It burns all the same, but it’s not worse, just different. She’s pinned beneath stone and debris, unable to move. It doesn’t matter, not really – she’s too tired to do much of anything. Everything hums in exquisite pain, all-encompassing and ever-present. She can’t focus on one singular hurt; it’s almost numbing.

All she can see is the stars. They’re the same, she knows, but she marvels at how they can be so different from down here. She can see stars that died centuries ago, their light piercing time and space. She can _see_ the history she raised an army to protect; memories of celestial giants permeating through time. She looks at the sky and understands how people could see it and have faith in something greater. She looks at the sky, and she sees heaven. It reminds her of Ashley.

_How can you look at this galaxy and not believe in_ something _?_  

She wants to believe. Believe that they won - that they did enough. That she was enough. She wants to believe that they will be remembered like the stars, still burning centuries after they’re gone.

She remembers Ashley, and her father. She remembers Legion, his soul and his sacrifice. She remembers Thane, his prayer – for himself, and for her. She remembers Mordin, and she hopes he found a beach with an abundance of seashells. Earth has plenty of oceans, she knows, and she’ll see them on the other shore.

She remembers everyone they’ve lost, and she’s never been vain, but once – just this once – she hopes they’ll remember her.

Because she’s only been here a few times, but she’s here now. She closes her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, it’s peaceful. It’s a strange comfort to die on Earth. And it’s what she deserves, she thinks, to finally find peace on the planet she died to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Amber Run's Fickle Game


	14. mourn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! Real life got in the way and it took me a while to get things sorted. But I'm here now! So here's a belated N7 day present. Forgive me? Also, I've got one last chapter planned, so we're nearly there!

 

_xiv. if you must mourn, my love, **mourn** with the moon and the stars up above_

 

Grunt is the one to find her. He frees her from the rubble, lifting her from the remains of her victory. He tries to be delicate, careful - cradling her in his arms as he climbs over debris. He never realized how small she is until now. She always had a massive presence, an easy confidence that made her so much bigger than her body. She made herself into something more, and a part of him hates her for it. She was great – she _made herself great_ , and now she’s gone. She’s gone and the hole she’s left is that much bigger. He doesn’t recognize the feeling in his chest but he _knows_ it’s her fault.

Everything he is, is because of her.

They don’t try to take her from him. To most, she’s just another body, another name on the list. Those who recognize her stop, pay what respects they can, and return to sifting through the rubble. He doesn’t stop, though. He can’t. He carries her through the warzone and thinks of all the times she carried him. A strange thought, for such a small thing to help him through his Rite, to teach him what the tank couldn’t, to be there when he needed her – every time.

Something as stupid as setting a car on fire, and she was still the first person he could think to call.

She was more, he thinks, than a battlemaster. More than Commander or Spectre. More, even, than Shepard. She was a friend – his very first, and perhaps his very best. And when he meets Garrus at the edge of the safe zone, he knows he’s not the only one.

“Damn it.” The turian says it so quietly, Grunt isn’t even sure the words take full form. They’re a fleeting whisper, lost amidst the grief. “Save me a seat.”

Garrus follows him through their broken compound, to the makeshift infirmary where there are far too few survivors. A dozen people hurry about, yelling at each other, but Chakwas is the only one he recognizes.

“Karin,” Garrus calls, and Chakwas freezes in place. She doesn’t want to turn, to know, and Grunt almost envies the state of ignorance. But she does turn – she turns and her lungs ache in her chest as the air escapes them.

“Is she…?”

“I couldn’t leave her with the others.” Grunt says, and Chakwas’ face crumbles with the pain of them. “She isn’t like the others.”

“I’ll find Kaidan.” Garrus grasps his arm, stealing one last glance at Shepard. He reaches for her, fingers ghosting over the N7 on her chest. “Damn it.” Quieter than the first, but resounding despite its softness. Any of them could have died – some of them still might – but Shepard…

“I almost thought it impossible.” Chakwas says, leading them to a shoddy cot in the corner. “She was…otherworldly. Seemingly immortal.” Grunt doesn’t want to put her down, doesn’t want to let her go, but she deserves peace.

They have to let her rest.

He sets her down gently, steps back just enough for Chakwas to get a clean scan for the record.

Her gasp startles him, but then she’s shouting for help and he can barely get the question out before he realizes what that small steady beep on her omnitool means.

And in an instant, Shepard’s body doesn’t seem quite so small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from You by Keaton Henson


	15. your life's about to start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The finale! I do have something else planned - something of a spiritual continuation - but this is the end of the story I wanted to tell here. Thank you so much to everyone who's joined me in this - everyone who's read and left kudos and commented. Literally all the love in the world to blueblack-poked-stars and dreamsindigital - you're so incredible and I can't express how wonderful your constant support is. You've truly made this an amazing and rewarding experience. I hope this feels like a fitting ending; it's for you. <3

 

_xv. oh, it's that feeling that you just can't shake - that **your life's about to start** and you just can't wait_

 

She’s restless. Unsurprising, given that the world is being rebuilt right outside her window, and all she can do is watch. Open wounds need stitching, broken bones need mending – she’ll admit the ruptured organs are a bit of a concern, but she’s had worse. It took a team of scientists, two years, and four billion credits to bring her back from it, but her point stands. She should be helping, she _wants_ to be helping. She needs something to do beyond watching the news.

“Break me out.” She looks to Kaidan with every ounce of authority she has left, but the man does little more than look up from his datapad with a quirked brow.

“I’m gonna go with a ‘no’ on that one.” He chuckles, but she doesn’t see the humour.

“I’m serious, Kaidan. I would have done it for you. I even offered.” He purses his lips, looking at her like her mother used to. Amused, but unconvinced.

“Eighty percent of your bones are broken.” He says, and she scoffs.

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“You were crushed. Literally _crushed_.”

“That’s what the cybernetics are for.”

“Shepard.” He starts, and she knows she’s in for it. All of his focus is on her now – he’s either going to tell her pull her head out of her ass, or say something so ridiculously romantic that she’ll forget what she was talking about in the first place. “There’s nowhere you need to be. No one to save, no one to fight. The only thing left for _you_ to do is rest. Rest and recover so you can enjoy the galaxy _you_ saved.”

“Kaidan –”  

_“_ Let the rest of us fix it for you. Just this once.”

She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. He hasn’t returned to his reports – she _knows_ he’s not finished. He’s waiting for her to argue, and she damn well plans on delivering.

“I can’t just _sit_ here. I’m bored and itchy and I think I’m growing mold.”

He smiles at her, so warmly, so lovingly – she wants to punch him in the throat. If he really loved her, he’d break her out.

“There will still be plenty to do when you’re healed.” He soothes. “There’s no rush.”

She sighs, still unsatisfied, still anxious. She wants to remind him that he gets to leave, that he’s not confined to a bed – that he gets to _do_ while she can only watch. But she doesn’t. He’s expecting her to, she’s sure –but she can’t. He’s been so patient with her, so optimistic. She complains and argues and still, he’s here. He’s been here, every day, for months. He’s not trapped in this room but he keeps coming back to it anyway. He _chooses_ to be here with her. For her.

She can’t bring herself to be mad at him, not even a little bit.

“I want to build a house.” She says instead, and she sees the gears in his brain stop.

“I…what?” He manages to get out. She takes some pleasure in confusing him, at least. It’s a small victory.

“You told me once that you wanted a home, when everything was done. I want to build one. With you.”

He blinks at her, and she worries for a moment that she’s broken him. He’s just…staring at her. She’s turned the tables, she knows. Between the two of them, he’s usually the one to stall her brain with declarations of affection. He’s breathing, at least, so that’s good, but –

“Kaidan?”

And then his hands are on her face, datapad clattering to the floor as he kisses her with a passion that startles any other thoughts from her mind. She can’t think of much beyond his lips until he’s pulling away, awe in his eyes. She wants to pull him back, to pull him into this boring bed with her, but they both know better.

“A house.” He says, leaving his chair abandoned as he sits on the edge of the bed, a hand still supporting the back of her neck.

“Mhmm,” She hums. “The galaxy is different, looking at it from down here. Quieter. I like it.”

“Someplace by the sea, then.” He smiles, and it’s brilliant, even against the stark white of her hospital room. “No city lights, just the ocean and a clear sky.”

“It has to be big enough for guests.” She nods, leaning her forehead against his as her hand snakes up to trace his jaw. “We’ve got a lot of family.”

“I think we can manage that.”

“And a dog.” She says, and his laugh somehow soothes every ache in her body. “I’ve never had a dog. I want one. A big one.”

“A dog is a big responsibility.” He teases, like she didn’t just raise an army and defeat an ancient race of sentient machines. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“It’s non-negotiable, Major Alenko.” She states, kissing him again – gently, chastely, like it’s the simplest thing in the universe. Maybe it is. “You get a beer fridge and I get a dog.”

“Alright,” He concedes, and she feels lighter than she has in years. She finally feels free to live the life she thought she’d lost. “We’ll build a home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Amber Run's Spark


End file.
